


Lights Out

by nanianela



Series: Scrawny and Brawny Adventures [2]
Category: Gravity Falls, Rick and Morty
Genre: 1970s, Alcoholic Behavior, Asphyxiation, Choking, Drunk Sex, Drunken Shenanigans, Inspired by Fanart, M/M, Oneshot, Protective Stan, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:27:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23076241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanianela/pseuds/nanianela
Summary: In which a young and drunk Rick Sanchez passes out mid-fuck.
Relationships: Grunkle Stan | Stanley "Stanford" Pines & Rick Sanchez (Rick and Morty), Stan Pines/Rick Sanchez (Rick and Morty)
Series: Scrawny and Brawny Adventures [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1664281
Comments: 11
Kudos: 52





	Lights Out

**Author's Note:**

> HUGE shout out to jlorcalx.tumblr.com whose beautiful art has seriously been my muse throughout the years for this ship ♡ please go check their tumblr for some seriously awesome stanchez (and commissions are open!!)
> 
> This is set in the 1970s, they are both in their twenties.

"I wanna fuck," Rick whined for the fifth time, winding his long legs around Stan's midsection and squeezing as he carried him past the door into their shithole of an apartment. "STAAAN. I said-" 

Stan clapped his hand over the lower half of Rick's face and pressed him into their mattress in a wrestler's pin. Some of the springs inside squealed with the pressure. It was the shittiest mattress of all time, sitting stained and bare on the floor, the only piece of furniture in the room. Sleeping on the floor probably would have been comfier than the piece of crap they found in an alleyway, but they'd done all that work hauling it back so they were guilt-tripped into using it.

"I heard what you said!" Stan hissed. "Be quiet!"

Rick couldn't escape from Stan's expert pin even if he tried, and it seemed he liked it that way from the soft mewls he was making through his nose, Stan's bear paw of a hand still clamped firmly over his mouth.

"Shut _up_. Shut up and I'll fuck you, okay? But first, shut **up**."

" _Mhy mm,_ " Rick said, his words fully muffled. Stan gave in and took his hand away. 

"Make me." Rick repeated, and Stan's lips smushed up against his, his hand already in the perfect place to curl tight around his throat. 

"Fuck ʸᵉᵃʰ," Rick squawked, high-noted and porny, clearly to piss Stan off. The neighbors had heard them getting it on several times through paper-thin walls, but didn't have enough evidence they were really fags to get them kicked out. Yet. Rick just loved to push that.

"Did that sound enough like a woman, huh Stan? Think that'll throw them off? Watch this, ᴬʰⁿⁿ-"

Stan's pressure around his throat increased, and Rick shut up and wheezed from it, shooting Stan a loving, toothy smile from under him. Damn that smile, Stan thought. Damn it to hell, it always got him into trouble.

 _Hot,_ Rick merely mouthed, squinting eyes boring into his. His face was already blushing pinker, framed by long strands of messy blue hair. _More._

Stan obeyed, clamping down harder and turning up the pressure. Rick's dick liked that, growing enough to nudge up against Stan's thigh. 

"Spread your legs." Stan demanded, his free hand slipping down over his stomach to dip beneath his waistband and palm at Rick's half-chub. Rick fully spread, sinking himself down on one of Stan's fingers when they wandered down.

"Wanna cum on those SAUSAGES," Rick was loud of the sake of being loud. "Welcome to the fuggin' cook out, baby!" 

He was being drunk, and needy, and mouthing off, and acting like a sonovabitch, Stan thought as he fingered him open and he whimpered with every thrust. Stan would be lying if he said he wasn't savoring every second of it. 

"Time for the prime rib!" Rick slurred. " _Fuck_ me, bitch!" 

Stan finally pushed inside, and Rick clung on for the ride of his life.

Stan thought he was doing a good job, fucking him silent just like he'd wanted. It was when his hand slipped limply off of his shoulder, that alerted Stan that something was off.

"Rick? Hey- hey hey-" Stan realized that even though Rick's eyes were half-opened, there weren't any lights on in the house. No one was home.

 _Did he really just pass out? **Mid** -fuck? _Stan couldn't believe his eyes. But when this man got this drunk, anything was possible.

 _"Rick?_ No way," Stan breathed, his brow furrowing with concern as he cupped at one side of his face and jostled his shoulder. Rick's head slipped limply to the side. Rick's expression looked beyond exhausted even though he was already unconscious. He was so blank like this, yet his hundred yard stare still carried a state of pain in it, of weariness beyond his years. Even at his most neutral, Rick's expression was twisted with hardship.

" _Dammit,_ Sanchez." 

[[source]](https://jlorcalx.tumblr.com/post/182760327575)

Stan sighed, and ran a hand down his face. Things between them had been strained for the past few days, and this had finally been _fun_. And odds were Rick wouldn't remember a thing.

Stan shimmied his jeans all the way off, wrestling with them when they got stuck on the large feet of a six-foot-plus man. If he didn't wear such tight jeans, not to mention the stupid rips slashed all over them...

Stan rolled Rick's limp body up to drape over his, head and more importantly mouth pointed down, cheek resting on Stan's chest. This was the position Stan used to make sure he wasn't alone, that he wouldn't suffocate on his own puke. He knew a guy from his high school that went like that, Rick said he knew about a dozen. Figures.

Stan would never let that happen. He wished he could stop anything bad from happening... but that was a tall order and he knew it. Rick was a crazy bastard living a batshit crazy life.

He kept one eye open just to look at him, at Rick alive and breathing as he draped over half of him. His skinny ass actually _fit_ on half of him, Stan mused. 

_Here, warm, and breathing._ Stan thought, his hand curled on the small of his back as Rick's chest rose and fell shallowly.

_Just focus on feeling it, his chest moving in and out. Warm. **Breathing**._

These probably weren't normal thoughts, Stan knew. But most people didn't have this many close calls, this many things out to get them.

 _Here's here with me,_ Stan reassured himself over and over, like he could talk his heart out of thumping up against his chest and filling his ears with a steady blood rush. _Not flat on his back near a dumpster in some alley somewhere. Here. With me._

Stan barely slept. When he started hearing the first signs of traffic and things in the room were a little more visible, he thought he might as well get the jump on Rick's hangover. He dug around a drawer in the bathroom and dumped a small pile of painkillers into his hand from a bottle with no lid. Half of them were stuck together in a clump. The medicine looked pretty sketchy, but it wouldn't be the first bad thing Rick had put in his body and it wouldn't be the last. 

Stan woke him up and Rick's first instinct was to cup himself between the legs with one hand and cringe away.

"Heyhey, it's just me. Just me, hon." Stan thumbed at his cheek and Rick relaxed, his body that was starting to coil up loosened, his limbs flopped open. Stan couldn't help but feel a faint happiness at this: it was like a wolf rolling over and exposing its stomach to you, like something special Rick would only do for _him._

"Eat these." Stan held his hand up like he were feeding a horse, Rick opened his mouth and Stan tipped it in until his palm covered Rick's lips. Rick crunched on them twice, only then noticed the bitter taste, and swallowed it down immediately. Stan snuggled back down next to him, watching his face as he continued to sleep. 

He wished he would wake up right now and be fine, Stan thought. They could get some of that fresh morning air, cups of joe together, and...

 _And nothing,_ Stan stopped himself short. _You thought you taking care of him ended last night? It'll be today, too. And tomorrow. And the rest of your fuckin' lives, probably._

"Up you go. Atta boy," Stan lifted him into a sitting position, holding a bottle of one of "Rick's Hangover Relief FOR IF ITS ACTUALLY BAD O̳N̳L̳Y̳" up to his lips. Something in those homemade hangover reliefs helped the day of, but would make Rick have to shit his brains out for the next few days. It was all the game of give or take, it was all about figuring out what was worth it.

Rick's hands shook as he gulped it down, some of it streaming out of the sides of his mouth. His swallows slowed until he pushed it away and took in a breath, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

His eyes finally slit open, sensitive even to the pale grey dawn light coming in. 

"Hey." Stan whispered, smudging at his cheek to wipe away some kind of grime on it. "Some night you had last night."

"Can't remember shit," Rick whispered back, dragging his hands down his face, catching his lower lids and flashing their shiny pink arcs. " _Ughh_."

"Gave you one of those For-Ifit's-Aclly-Bad-Only's," Stan muttered. " 'Cuz it was." 

Rick's pride wasn't about to let him ask why, so Stan did the honors. 

"You passed out. While we were fucking." Stan found himself growling. Wouldn't Rick be able to tell he was too close to lights out? Why would he start getting down and dirty with him in the first place, if he knew? He usually could tell when these kinds of things would happen, control it somewhat... or that's what he wanted Stan to think. No alcoholic had any semblance of control over the drink, not really. 

The smile started slow, Stan thought it was one that would abort when he saw how Stan glared hard at him, because it wasn't funny. Not at all to him. 

No, Rick's smile began to pull more, becoming wider. The seam split open and flashed his teeth, then Rick lost it. He started laughing, a little hoarseness coming through on the lowest parts. His chest jumped with them, and he threw his head back, flashing his molars and the silver in them. 

"Sta- ha- HA- _ha!!_ " Rick roared. "Like- you were-" 

"I was literally inside you." Stan growled, but this made Rick lose it even more, slapping at his leg, laughing so hard he went quiet except for squeaks. 

"Rick! RICK!" Stan finally gave in and shouted. "Not funny, okay! You fucking scared me!" 

"While you were-" Rick wheezed, his voice high like a whistle. "You were litera- _haaa_ hahahaha!" 

"Fuck you." Stan's mouth was pulling into a little grin too, fighting it wasn't helping. "You _fucking_ piece of shit." 

It was like Rick head butted him, knocking a little too hard onto his forehead and nose with his face. Then his lips were on his, warm and moving and nice enough for the next string of curses to die on Stan's tongue. Bony fingers snaked their way up Stan's neck, blunt nails painted black scratched upwards on his scalp.

Rick closed his fist, getting a good handful of those brown locks that were longer at the back of his head, pulling back so Stan's mouth opened up more and he slotted them together, wet and warm and tasting of morning breath and last night's alcohol. But neither cared.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a true story a recovering alcoholic/user and ex-friend told me about passing out mid-hookup. Ex-friend because he was a huge narcissistic asshole who made my friend cry... good fodder for writing Rick, though. Comments mean the world to me and I'll always reply!


End file.
